This Dream
by AmethystWren
Summary: One-shot. After the war, Annie struggles to adapt to life without Finnick.


**If this seems kind of choppy, it's supposed to. I'm trying to delve into Annie's mind during a difficult part of her life here, so her thoughts are sometimes a little jumbled. I hope it's not confusing :)**

**This fic is influenced very heavily by a song called Dark Paradise by Lana Del Rey. If you haven't listened to it, I strongly recomend you do, as like I said this story is very heavily influenced by it. This should, however, make sense without it.**

**Warning: Attempted suicide.**

**Disclaimer: I do not own The Hunger Games, or anybody you recognise from it.**

* * *

Johanna visits often. After losing him, she's the only one I feel I can trust completely and utterly with everything.

Sipping ice cold lemonade back District 4, Johanna glances over at me.

"Do you think you'll ever be able to move on?" She asks me.

I shake my head.

No, no, no.

Johanna wraps an arm around my shoulders, gives me a quick reassuring squeeze, and releases me. As far as Johanna Mason goes, that's the most affection she seems capable of giving her friend.

I'm grateful for her.

I am.

* * *

Midnight, and I can't sleep.

Decapitated, they tell me. Just like Gabriel. Just like sweet Gabe. My poor Finnick.

I can't sleep. I can't. I can't.

After hours of tossing and turning, I slip my dressing gown on and leave.

It's a short walk down my road to the beach. Wrapping my dressing gown more tightly around myself, I wriggle my toes in the sand slightly before making my way over to the shoreline.

It feels natural, lying down there on the sodden sand. The waves have already crashed by the time they reach me, cold water reaching out like fingers to caress my body.

If I close my eyes, I can liken their touch to Finnick's.

Finnick, Finnick, Finnick.

Everything is right again for a little while.

* * *

Johanna tries setting me up on dates.

She means well. I know she does. She'd never intentionally hurt me. But no-one compares to him. She can't find me another Finnick. She can't. And I'm certain he's the only person for me.

She selects people who bear some sort of resemblance to him. The first has soft auburn curls. The second possesses eyes a green-blue, dazzling but not quite so much as his always were. The third has an athletic build, the fourth a cheeky smirk.

None of them are him. None of them... _fit_.

After the fifth date, Johanna gives up, much to my relief.

* * *

I start collecting sea glass. Particularly the green shards. I keep them in a clear vase on the window sill, and at night I like to empty them out on the table, lifting each piece to the lamp's light, watching it shine, before replacing it back in the vase once again.

They're the same colour as his eyes, more or less. Slightly darker, but just as bright and shining and dazzling.

It seems I'm seeing little bits of him everywhere nowadays.

* * *

I feel sick.

My stomach feels like it's being torn out from within me, and my throat is raspy and sore.

Downstairs, Johanna is making me some scrambled egg on toast. She said it was best not to eat something too heavy, since I threw up a few hours ago and my belly's still reeling.

"Annie,"

I bolt upright in bed.

The sudden movement makes me feel dizzy, and I have to put my hands out on either side of me on the mattress to keep myself from toppling over.

"It's alright, it's me."

It's him.

I look around, but I can't see him. I can hear him, but I can't see him. I can't.

"You're going to be alright, Annie." His voice assures me. "I promise."

The door flies open, and Johanna enters with a plate of toast and egg.

"Are you okay?" She asks, concerned. "You look like you've seen a ghost."

"I'm alright." I repeat Finnick's words numbly, tucking into the food she places on my bedside table and wondering if I'm relapsing again.

* * *

Pregnant.

That's why I felt sick. That's what it was.

I'm going to have a baby.

Lying in the sand, agonisingly alone, I let the waves kiss the sand from my bare toes.

"I don't know how to raise a baby, Finn." I say, hoping he'll hear me. Wherever he is, I hope he hears. I hope. "I need you here, with me."

There's no reply, of course. Just the crash of waves against the floor, the rustle as they tug pebbles back out to sea.

We're alone. My baby and I.

* * *

Upon receiving my letter bearing the apparently good news, Peeta comes to visit me. He says that Katniss is distant, but she's opening up to him a little more now.

"You're strong, Annie." He says. "I don't know how I'd cope if I lost her."

"I have to be." I explain. "I'm not sure why, exactly. I just do."

Peeta nods in understanding. "Strange as it may sound, that makes complete sense."

"I've found that certain little things remind me of him." I say, thinking of the sweet caress of the sea, of my little vase of green sea glass. "They keep me going."

"You're still a stronger person than I'll ever be, Annie Odair." Peeta insists.

I think he's probably just being nice, but even so his words make my heart swell with pride for the first time in goodness knows when.

* * *

I replace my sea glass in its vase once again, as has become my nightly routine.

That's when I first feel my baby move inside me- a slight fluttering in my stomach.

"Hey there, little starfish," I say gently to my bump. "You'll be able to see my collection soon enough."

Another little kick.

I smile to myself and lay one hand on my stomach, the other continuing to sort through my sea glass before I retire upstairs.

* * *

I can't do this. I can't do it. I can't.

I can't raise a child. I especially can't alone.

I need Finnick here.

He isn't here.

He won't be ever again.

God, I miss him. I need him. I love him.

I don't want to do this alone.

I don't want to do it. I don't.

I can't.

* * *

I dream about him often.

We walk on the beach, the orange light of the sunset making his auburn curls shine ,l ike he's some kind of radiant lighthouse tower- tall and bright and beautiful, there to save me from crashing into the rocks and breaking myself into little pieces.

I can feel his palms, calloused and rough, as his fingers stroke the backs of my hands tenderly.

We run and we roll in the sand, until it's all over us- in our hair, our clothes.

Lying on top of me in the sand, that's when he moves in to kiss me.

And that's when I wake up. That's when I always wake up.

* * *

I can't do this.

I can't.

I'm going to ruin this poor baby's life. Just like I've already ruined mine. I don't want to hurt it. I don't.

I'll prevent that from happening. I will.

I'll save us both.

Stumbling sleepily into the kitchen, I take a knife from the block and make a long, neat cut down the inner side of my left forearm.

Blood. So much blood.

I feel myself begin to panic. But what's done is done.

The front door opens, and I hear footsteps.

"Annie," Johanna's voice says. "Annie, I brought some films over for us to watch."

My arm hurts. It hurts. It _hurts_.

I let out a choked sob.

"Annie?" Johanna repeats, this time sounding concerned. The footsteps grow louder.

The knife falls to the floor with a clatter, and I follow, crying and crying until the world turns dark.

* * *

I feel dizzy.

Johanna's phoning someone, her voice frantic. Then there's people, strange unknown people. They're bundling me into a van- an ambulance, I realise- and shutting the doors. And there's a high-pitched whirring, screechy noise. Sirens. It must be sirens.

Johanna sits beside me, holds my hand.

"Stay with me, Annie." She keeps saying, over and over. "Stay with me."

She sounds like she's underwater. Everything does. It all seems so distant, like I'm walking in a dream.

I can't stay with her. I can't. I try so hard to. I owe Johanna at least that much after all she's done for me, but I can't.

It's bright here. Too bright. Everywhere, there's nothing but white light, as far as the eye can see, spreading out in all directions.

"Annie?"

I whirl around, and there's Finnick.

Running towards him, I wrap my arms around him, burying my face in my shoulder. He hugs me back fiercely, his finger nails digging into my back. But I don't care, I don't care, I _don't care._

"You shouldn't be here." He says, pulling away. "Not yet."

"I don't understand." I tell him. "Where are we?"

"You'll learn one day, love." He says, placing a quick peck on the tip of my nose. "But not today."

"Finnick, you aren't making any sense." I insist, but rather than explain he just presses a quick kiss to my lips.

The light begins to fade, growing less intense, less bright. I think I might feel relieved if Finnick wasn't also fading with it.

"We're losing her." An unfamiliar voice says, and looking around I can't idenitify its source.

Finnick kisses my lips once again, lingering slightly longer this time.

"You'll be alright, Annie." He assures me.

* * *

A hospital bed.

I've had my fair share of hospitals, but this time I'm in the maternity ward instead of the psychiatric. This time, the doctors aren't treating me like I'm stupid or infantile.

Johanna sits at my bedside. She's dozing, but she wakes when I sit up.

"Morning, Sleeping Beauty," She teases. "I suppose you'll want to see the new arrival."

She shuffles her chair out of the way, giving me a clear view of a little glass crib containing a baby. My baby.

Slipping out of bed, I reach into the cradle and take my son in my arms. He's so delicate, so fragile, but somehow I know I could never hurt him. Not ever. Not for anything in all the world.

"Hello there, little one." I say.

His little hand wraps around my finger, and from that moment I am absolutely and inexplicably in love with this tiny little pink bundle.

* * *

"Joe, don't go too far!" I shout.

My little son giggles and continues to run down the beach. He'll return in a few minutes, I know, eager to show me a newly discovered crab or a pretty pebble he's found.

Two years ago, I'd never thought we'd make it to this day. Both alive, both fairly happy.

I still miss Finnick. Of course I do.

But our son, Joe... He's like a dream come true. He's perfect. With my dark hair, but his father green eyes and cheeky smirk, oh he's perfect.

I can only hope this isn't another cruel trick of my imagination, because I do not want to wake up from this dream.


End file.
